


This Afternoon

by StarberryCupcake



Series: Loved, in spite of one's self [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Pining, emotional development and getting to understand one another and themselves, hair chalk jehan, pining!courf, poetry in spanish, that's kind of the theme of this series, there's poetry involved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarberryCupcake/pseuds/StarberryCupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac finds out that Jehan has a date with a man he met in a bookstore and gets discouraged. After so much time flirting with him and getting nowhere, Courfeyrac decides to change his tactic and do some poetry research, to understand Jehan better. What he wasn't expecting was to find in the words of strangers so much about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Afternoon

**Author's Note:**

> This would chronologically go after 'The Exhibition', giving the established relationship between Enjolras and Grantaire, but can be read separately and still understood completely.

 

  
_Y quiero amarlo ahora. Está la tarde_   
_blanda y tranquila como espeso musgo,_   
_tiembla mi boca y mis dedos finos,_   
_se deshacen mis trenzas poco a poco._

  
_  
_**_Esta tarde_ \- Alfonsina Storni**

“He hates me” Courfeyrac sentenced, as he fell on the couch, between Enjolras and Combeferre, right after entering his friends’ flat.

“Let’s pretend that you just came here and we have no idea what you’re talking about” Combeferre said with sarcasm, not looking up from the papers he was re-reading.

“Jehan. He hates me” Courfeyrac sighed dramatically and let his head fall on Enjolras’s shoulder.

“I highly doubt that.” Enjolras highlighted a sentence from a book he was reading, not bothering to either move Courfeyrac’s head from his shoulder or look at him while speaking.

“Well, he does. Because there’s no way he would turn me down like _that_ if he didn't”

“You asked him out?” Combeferre turned to look at his friend then, dropping the papers he was holding.

“No…but I was very obvious with my flirting for this past freakin’ year, wasn't I?” he covered his face with his hands, frustrated “and now he has a date. A _date_ , Combeferre. With this dude he met at a bookstore, between the aisle of poetry and the one of essays, which is _so Jehan_. I've been flirting with him all year and this guy just shows up and gets a date. Life is so unfair.” Courfeyrac curled in a ball, pushing his legs close to his chest.

“Courfeyrac, you flirt with everyone. You are a flirt, that’s what you do. How is he supposed to tell the difference if you don’t tell him explicitly?” Combeferre put a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, ‘Ferre, he’s been pretty obvious about it” Enjolras still did not lift his gaze from his book.

Courfeyrac muffled something that sounded like a “thank you” from the ball he had become.

“Enjolras, not only you are not precisely the one to talk about being oblivious to feelings, but also your opinion is biased by the fact that you listen to him talking about Jehan all day long” Combeferre sighed. “Courf, maybe he didn't know. I don’t think he can tell the difference between you flirting with people just for the sake of being nice, your infatuated flirting and your truly romantic flirting.”

"I didn't know there were so many types..." Enjolras murmured, still concentrated in his book. 

“It doesn't matter now, does it?” Courfeyrac looked up “He’s dating perfect-bookstore-stud and not me. I’m sure he would have chosen him anyway, since he’s what you’d think Jehan’s boyfriend should be…meeting in a library and all…”

“Well, that’s a pretty defeatist attitude for you” Enjolras highlighted another sentence “You don’t usually surrender this easily”

A light seemed to pass through Courfeyrac’s eyes, as if he had experienced the most life-changing epiphany of his life. Combeferre knew that look and it was never good news.

“That’s right. You’re right.” Courfeyrac stood up, determined “I have to beat this guy. I have to show Jehan that I appreciate him, that I would do anything for him.” He kissed Enjolras’s cheek and strode towards the door.

Startled, Enjolras looked up from his book and around, trying to understand what was going on.

“Where are you going?” Combeferre asked.

“The first place to visit when you’re in a Jehan-wooing mission:” Courfeyrac said, without looking back “the library”

And with that, he left the apartment.

“I hope you’re happy” Combeferre told Enjolras, as he picked up the papers he had dropped before.

“What just happened?” Enjolras asked, looking at the door and then at a sighing Combeferre.

 

 “Sometimes I feel that being friends with you two should be a remunerated occupation” he said, fondly.

* * *

Courfeyrac walked from the library to the Musain, his mind unsettled. He had spent the past week going through different poetry books in the library, researching poets and authors that Jehan liked and finding out some new ones that he had never mentioned but that Courfeyrac himself turned out to be interested in. He started his quest with the sole purpose of proving Jehan what he meant to him, in a way that he could understand. He realized that flirting wasn not an option, since it seemed to make Jehan feel like he was just like everyone else, so Courfeyrac thought poetry would be the best way to approach him, being it his favorite form of expression. And yes, he also thought it would be a great way to impress him, but that was _not_ the main reason, mind you.

Still, Courfeyrac had not expected to find out so much about himself in the words of other people. He had read poetry before, of course he had, but he found it hard to identify himself with it, since he preferred a much more direct approach to things. Poetry sometimes seemed to him exaggeratedly over the top, saying too much but meaning too little, and if Courfeyrac had to choose between a hug or a praise, he would always go for the hug.

Still, he had been wrong about poetry. He had found out more than he was looking for and something he had read made him reconsider his entire plan.

He opened the door of the Musain and tried to put on a fake smile, saying hello as he usually did, but he wasn not fooling anyone. Courfeyrac was too honest and his face seemed like a perfect mirror of his emotions. Except, it seemed, to show Jehan his true feelings for him.

“Are you ok, Courf?” Combeferre asked.

“Yeah, you look like shit” Grantaire added.

“Well, thank you very much, R” Courfeyrac answered, frowning at the man in the back who raised his glass in acknowledgement.

“Is there something wrong?” Jehan’s sweet voice came next and the man felt it like a pang in his heart.

The poet was looking at him with deep concern; his hair today had his natural color fading to purple and blue on the tips, thanks to the big box of hair chalk that Grantaire had given him for his last birthday, with a card that read ‘ _I can’t make you the metamorphmagus you would like to be, but this is as close as I can get_ ’. His sweater was a soft shade of yellow and seemed comfortable and cuddly, not matching at all with the green flower-patterned pants he was wearing. Courfeyrac had to look away if he wanted to avoid swooning.

“Fine, everything’s fine” he looked at Combeferre, as if he could transmit the reason of his pain to him without saying it out lout.

“Are you sure…” Jehan tried to reach Courfeyrac’s hand, to comfort him.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about” Combeferre interrupted suddenly, making Jehan retreat his hand from its journey.

“Well, since Courfeyrac is ok…” Enjolras interjected, throwing Courfeyrac a knowing and reassuring smile and patting his shoulder “we should start with the meeting”

Grantaire seemed about to throw Enjolras a comment, something along the lines of ‘are you really interrupting your friend’s problems to start a meeting?’ but Courfeyrac sent him a glance that he hoped was enough to shut him up.

 

Grantaire looked at Courfeyrac and then at Enjolras, who nodded slightly, as if approving Courfeyrac’s will to stay silent. Grantaire, true to his nature, decided to trust Enjolras and avoid talking about it any further. The blond threw him a thankful smile that lightened up Grantaire’s eyes and made him smile in return. If Courfeyrac had not been so down in the dumps, he might have made a comment, but he decided to just be content for his best friend’s blooming relationship. And allowed himself a selfish pang of jealousy, not that he would admit to it.  

* * *

After the meeting ended, Jehan approached Courfeyrac before the other left.

“Courf, are you sure you’re ok?” he said softly, tentatively touching Courfeyrac’s arm.

“Fine, I’m fine, don’t worry about me” he wore a smile on his face but Jehan felt how he stiffened under his touch.

Courfeyrac was a very physical man. It was not like him to be uncomfortable with being touched. He was not ashamed of public displays of affection, he did not shy away from cuddling, hugging, kissing or touching when it came to people he loved. Hugging could be also applied to acquaintances and some random strangers, actually. He had probably kissed on the lips almost every member of their group at some point or another, it just came natural to him to respond that way, to exude happiness and try to pass it on. That, of course, only made it harder for Jehan to hide his pounding heart and embarrassingly intense blush whenever Courfeyrac’s skin came in contact with his own. It had not taken too much time for Jehan to understand that what he felt for Courfeyrac was more than mere friendly feelings and, as time went by, he realized that it was not just a crush. Yet, Courfeyrac was a free man. He lived, loved, fought and seemed unable to be tied to one person alone, and Jehan believed that it was selfish of him to deprive the world of Courfeyrac’s love. Still, there was a tiny selfish part of him that wanted to mean a bit more than everyone else.

“You shouldn't be here with me now, should you?” Courfeyrac interrupted Jehan’s thoughts “You have a date!”

Jehan seemed confused for a moment and then his eyes opened wide in realization.

“You heard that” he said, almost in a whisper.

“Yeah, sorry if I wasn't meant to” Courfeyrac looked at the floor, uncharacteristically flustered.

“It’s ok. I just…”

“Well, I shouldn't keep you busy then” the law student put on a smile that seemed extremely forced and avoided Jehan’s gaze “I’d say ‘good luck’ but if you needed it, then the guy would be an ass for not seeing you properly” his voice almost broke, his will deflated.

He seemed uncertain of what he had said and left in a rush, which was also uncharacteristic of Courfeyrac, second guessing his words like that, especially after saying something so meaningful. There was something wrong with Courfeyrac and Jehan was determined to find out how to help him, if it was the last thing he did. And then, with a clear mind, he made a decision. 

* * *

Jean Prouvaire was not an intrusive individual. He knew when to press matters and when to let things go, when to wait for his friends to be ready to talk and when to go into action. And, given Jehan’s sensitivity and natural empathy, he was one of the most reliable ones in his group of friends to go with a problem, especially matters of the heart. But, things with Courfeyrac were different. They had always been different. And, if Combeferre knew something that he was not telling, he sure as hell was going to tell him that very afternoon. He _needed_ to know.

He waited patiently for Combeferre to open the door of the flat that he shared with Enjolras but was confused by the puzzled expression with which he was received.

“I was expecting…” Combeferre started “someone else” he settled on saying.

“This won’t take long;” Jehan entered the flat without an invitation “but well, that really depends on you”

“Look, Jehan…” Combeferre run a hand through his hair.

“No” the poet sentenced “I am going to the kitchen, I am making us a cup of tea and _then_ , we will talk”

And, with that, he crossed the threshold.

Combeferre did not have much time to analyze what he was going to say to the poet when the door, that he forgot to lock, opened to reveal a flustered Courfeyrac.

“’Ferre, I need your advice” he sounded desperate “I haven’t told anyone and you know how it kills me when I can’t speak”

“Courf, right now is not…” Combeferre was trying to warn his friend that the object of his affections was inside the kitchen in that very moment, but to no avail.

“Remember I told you that I had started reading poetry? I wanted to understand Jehan more, to know where I failed and that guy didn't…and yeah, maybe to impress him a little, sue me” he kept walking animatedly around the room.

“Courf…” Combeferre tried to stop him.

“No, listen ‘Ferre” he avoided his friend's gaze as he paced back and forth in the living room, breathing heavily “I always try with everything I have to get what I want…or who I want. I don’t give up easily and think that there’s always a way. But I was in the library researching poetry when I stumbled across this poem that talked about unrequited love”

“Courfeyrac…” Combeferre tried to make him stop talking but the man was on a roll.

“The poem is beautiful, so much that I looked up who the author was and turns out she was a female writer who started publishing in the 1910s and killed herself in the late 1930s; she jumped into the sea in the Atlantic coast of the Buenos Aires province…”

Combeferre looked at Courfeyrac with concern.

“Don’t panic, Combeferre, just bear with me here. This woman jumped into the sea 75 years ago, but today there’s a monument in her memory in the place where she might have jumped from. There are plaques and messages written in stone with different dates, messages from readers who thank her for her poetry, her art, for the love she inspired in them. People offer flowers in the statue even today, people remember her and love her, people she never met and who were born years after she passed. She touched so many hearts and made so many people happy while she felt unloved and unwanted enough to write such an honest poem about it. And that’s when I realized, maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe what I want is not what would make Jehan happy and that’s ok. Well, not _ok_ but _enough_. It doesn't matter if it’s not me who he loves, because what matters is _him_. So I decided that this time I won’t pursue him as I did before. Because this time it’s the most important time of all and what I want is to make him happy, to do something that may be unseen by him now but that will eventually lead him to happiness.”

Courfeyrac took a deep breath, as if he had let go a huge burden from his shoulders. Combeferre was impressed, he had never seen his friend so determined, so decided, so _in love_.

“Alfonsina Storni,” a soft voice said from the kitchen threshold, and Courfeyrac turned to see Jehan, trembling slightly and with watery eyes “the poem is called ‘ _Tú que nunca serás_ ’”

“Jehan…” Courfeyrac looked accusingly at Combeferre, who shrugged.

“I think you both need to talk” his friend said.

In that moment, they heard the door opening again and Enjolras stepped into his apartment with a confused look on his face.

“What…?” he could not finish his question, as Combeferre took him by the arm, his other hand grasping the keys from the hanger by the door, and led him outside again.

“I’ll explain, let’s leave them alone”

“In our apartment?” they heard Enjolras say, utterly confused, as they left.

Jehan grabbed the cups of tea that were meant for him and Combeferre and placed them on the coffee table, sitting on the couch and signaling Courfeyrac to sit beside him.

“She was sick, you know,” Jehan said softly, as Courfeyrac sat “Alfonsina. She had cancer, was losing her fight against it and was in terrible pain. She wrote three things before departing: a letter to her son, another to a writer friend so he took care of him and a goodbye poem to the newspapers, a beautiful last poem. I read a lot of her work, it’s very beautiful, but I never thought about it the way you just did.”

Courfeyrac, for once, was unable to say a word.

“I like to think that art gives us a piece of immortality, as long as there’s someone out there who keeps it alive. The more souls you can reach with your art, the more immortal you become. I think she succeeded. After all, she was loved, not only then but 75 years later. Unknowingly, she changed the life of many people, and I think you’re right, that _is_ important, making someone happy, especially if it’s someone you love. It’s an extremely honorable thought, but it doesn't surprise me that it came from you.” He smiled and his face seemed to glow when he did.

Courfeyrac, even if scared and hesitant, smiled back.

“I’m sorry that you had to find out like this” he settled on saying.

“Like what? With you talking about an admirable poet and using her art as a metaphor to explain the extent of your feelings for me?” Jehan scooted closer “Courfeyrac, that’s the most romantic thing someone has ever said to me…or well, in your case, not directly to me, but it just makes it all the more honest and bare” he giggled “And, to be completely honest, I am so in love with you that I would have taken one of your lamest pick-up lines as a lyrical masterpiece if that was what you chose to give me.”

Even with all the words in his lexicon, Jehan would have never been able to describe the sudden magical change in Courfeyrac’s features as he heard those words. His eyes gleamed with renewed energy and that pure, honest and gleeful smile took over his face.

“You deserve more than a lame pick-up line though” he said, smirking.

“Do I?” Jehan came even closer, his hand resting a few inches away from Courfeyrac’s leg.

Courfeyrac closed the distance between them and whispered in Jehan’s ear “I want to be able to offer you _the delicate urgency of the mist_ ”

Jehan’s eyes opened wide with surprise and he kissed Courfeyrac’s lips with need and desire. He was almost on Courfeyrac’s lap, his hands lost on his curly hair, Courfeyrac’s soft hands took him gently by the waist, pulling him in. Courfeyrac’s lips nibbled Jehan’s genly and their tongues met in a synchronized frenzy, as if their needs met with the other’s desire perfectly.

Courfeyrac pulled away suddenly, his face disheveled yet surprised.

“Oh god, you had a date” he said, rather mortified “I mean, I love you, I want to keep you here and make out with you until our lips fall apart, but I don’t wanna mess up something you have, not to _you_ …”

Jehan laughed and took the law student’s hand in his.

“Thank you, I really appreciate that you thought of it” he intertwined their fingers “But I cancelled the date before I came here to ask Combeferre what was happening to you”

“You…you did?” Courfeyrac was surprised but ecstatic, he was unable to hide the smile that took over his features.

“Yes, I met him where we had arranged and told him I was sorry, but I couldn't date him because I was in love with someone else. I said yes in the first place because I wanted to try to get over you, but when I saw you so broken and…just so _sad_ , I knew I valued more getting to know how to help you than dating an unknown guy. I guess I was, inadvertently, doing what you were trying to do for me.”

“I don’t deserve you, Jean Prouvaire” Courfeyrac run his fingers through Jehan’s hair, falling loose out of the braid it had formerly being arranged in.

“I would strongly object, but I guess we have time to work on those issues of ours, don’t we?” he smiled honestly and closed the distance between them again, now climbing completely over his lap and holding on to those curls he loved so much as if his life depended on it.

Courfeyrac moaned when he felt the tug on his hair, his hands traveling underneath Jehan’s yellow sweater and printed t-shirt, his fingertips finding Jehan’s soft skin and memorizing a path he was willing to trail again and again. Jehan’s hands traveled from Courfeyrac’s hair to his chest, lowering to the hem of his t-shirt and exploring underneath it, his olive skin inviting and tempting…

“ARE YOU DECENT? WE’RE COMING IN!” they suddenly heard Grantaire’s voice from the door and, startled, retreated enough to let Jehan out of Courfeyrac’s lap but kept their hands intertwined.

“Sorry for the cockblock, I have gelato in a bag.” he moved to the kitchen, followed by Enjolras and Combeferre “I painted a new sign for the old gelato store two blocks from here and the nice old man paid me with goods! I was on my way to offer Enjolras and Combeferre some of it and I saw them outside the building. They had enough tact to leave you alone but I really don’t want my earnings to melt!”

“You let them pay with gelato” Enjolras commented.

“They were having a hard time…” Grantaire started, raising his voice, making Combeferre, Jehan and Courfeyrac wince, expecting the worst.

“With their payments, I know, they were barely able to keep the business running last month.” Enjolras interrupted and then smiled “I don’t know if it’s my right to say this…after all, it’s not like I have some sort of claim over your choices…but I’m very proud of you and I’m happy that you did this”

Grantaire almost dropped the bag on the floor, Combeferre and Courfeyrac smiled with relief and Jehan giggled.

“Thank you…” Grantaire answered, blushing “Well, does the new couple want some gelato to commemorate the event?” he turned to Jehan and Courfeyrac, raising a spoon.

“Yes, thank you” Jehan got up from the couch, offering his hand to Courfeyrac, and not letting it go all the way to the kitchen.

Enjolras moved to the counter to find bowls for the dessert and Grantaire reached him, put a hand on his hip and whispered “Really, _thanks_ ” to his ear, smiling brightly.

“You’re not being subtle!” Courfeyrac called.

“Neither are you, your t-shirt is still rolled up” Grantaire pointed at Courfeyrac's belly.

“Why do I put up with you people?” Combeferre sighed fondly.

“Oh, don’t even start, you’re next” Grantaire winked “If you don’t ask Éponine out soon and she starts pining again like she did two years ago with Marius, I’m setting your books on fire”

“I’m not Marius” Combeferre said, with a defeated tone.

“Exactly” Grantaire smiled knowingly and offered Combeferre a bowl of his favorite tiramisu-flavored gelato.

“I advise you to resort to poetry, it does wonders” Courfeyrac smiled through his strawberry-gelato-filled mouth.

“It certainly does” Jehan said, kissing away some of the dessert from Courfeyrac’s lips. 

* * *

The next morning greeted Jehan with the sun shining through his floral curtains but an empty bed. As he rose from slumber, he found his current notebook opened in his nightstand and immediately recognized Courfeyrac's handwriting. 

* * *

**Notes!**

(I'm adding notes like this because I need links and I don't know how to make them work in the note space)

**Poetry references:**

\- Alfonsina Storni is my favorite poet and one of the most important writers of my country. Her story is roughly described in this fic but every bit is true. I visit her monument every summer and I like to look at the messages people has written to her through the years. You can find some pictures of the monument, the messages, the flowers and the beach in [this post](http://starberry-cupcake.tumblr.com/post/2675156673/alfonsina) I made a while ago. 

\- The poem that lends its title to this fic and that I quoted at the beginning is Esta tarde/This Afternoon by Alfonsina Storni. The best translation I can manage of that quote is: _and I want to love him now/Is the afternoon/soft and quiet as dense moss/my mouth and my slim fingers shake/my braids fall apart little by little._ The full poem in spanish can be found [here](http://www.ciudadseva.com/textos/poesia/ha/storni/esta_tarde.htm).

\- The poem that Courfeyrac is talking about and that Jehan recognizes is _Tú que nunca serás_ and I roughly translated it a while ago too, [here it is](http://starberry-cupcake.tumblr.com/post/28729259722).

\- The quote that Courfeyrac mentions ( _the delicate urgency of the mist)_ belongs to another Argentinean poet, Alejandra Pizarnik, called [_Lovers_](http://amediavoz.com/pizarnik.htm#AMANTES)

**Other notes**

\- The metamorphmagus!Jehan reference wouldn't have been possible without [Ibbyliv's fantastic fic Obliviate](936288/chapters/1823387) 

\- Gelato is extremely common in Argentina because of the European immigration in the 19th Century and a lot of stores belong to families and pass them from one generation to another. I wanted to incorporate that, to sum up all my Argentinean references. R's payment is inspired in one time my dad painted a sign (my dad is a painter) for a sandwich store and was payed in food. 

\- The macarons, lavender and tiramisu are inspired in [a post I made](http://starberry-cupcake.tumblr.com/post/49199471693/after-a-conversation-with-a-friend-i-decided-to) a long time ago about a Les Amis inspired tea party 

I really hope I'm not screwing this all up with this series, I know my characterizations of these two are not spot on at all but I hope they're decent enough. I apologize for all the references and notes, but maybe I introduced some new writers to you. Thanks so much for reading this, you are a beautiful human being. 


End file.
